


Soy Latte

by FestiveFerret



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Brain delete, Coffee, Inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Loss, Love, M/M, Memory Deletion, break ups, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret
Summary: There's no line at the coffee cart so Steve marches right up to the window and stomps his feet a little to keep the blood flowing to them while he waits for the guy with the towel to stop rubbing the little milk spout thingy and come serve him."What can I get ya?"Steve's coffee of choice for twelve years was a soy latte, but lately, it's been, "Americano, and leave a little room for milk."
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 256
Collections: Team Angst





	Soy Latte

**Author's Note:**

> This is very loosely inspired by the concept of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind which I haven't even seen so it's a very loose interpretation, haha.

Steve pulls his jacket tighter around himself as he hustles down the street, squinting against the flickering streetlights. It feels later than it is, but it's also certainly later than is appropriate for coffee.

But the truck is still open for business, and Steve hasn't been able to shake the craving all day. They don't serve decaf, but he honestly doesn't care if he sleeps or not. He won't be able to sleep if he doesn't get coffee, either. 

The insomnia is relatively new, only in the last six months or so, and he's not sure what's caused it, but he doesn't like it. It doesn't help that it's come with a driving need for coffee that plagues him near constantly. There might be a connection there, but Steve can't stop and examine that too much or he'll have to look at his entire lifestyle and that won't do. Sam and Nat keep telling him it's depression. It's not like he doesn't agree, he just isn't sure what the point of knowing that is. Just like how he can point to the pile of laundry in the corner of his bedroom and say, "that's a pile of laundry," and it still doesn't clean it up.

There's no line at the coffee cart - for obvious reasons - so Steve marches right up to the window and stomps his feet a little to keep the blood flowing to them while he waits for the guy with the towel to stop rubbing the little milk spout thingy and come serve him.

"What can I get ya?"

Steve's coffee of choice for twelve years was a soy latte, but lately, it's been, "Americano, and leave a little room for milk."

The barista gives him a lazy salute and sets to work. Steve shuffles down the edge of the truck a bit to poke at the little shakers of toppings out of curiosity. 

"Hey, can I get a soy latte?" a new voice calls.

Steve turns to find a young man with dark hair and gorgeous eyes at the window. The man has spun towards Steve in surprise, taking a step back and gesturing at the window. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. Have you ordered?"

Something old and lost flutters at the edges of Steve's mind, but he can't pin it down into something still and in focus. "I'm -" He can't pull his eyes away from the man, who stares back, seemingly equally caught. "I already ordered," Steve manages to stutter out eventually. "That's mine he's making."

"Oh, okay." The man smiles, brilliant and bright. "I'll wait, then."

"Bit late for a coffee," Steve teases.

The man laughs. He takes a step closer. "You too." He takes another step. "Have we… were you at that conference in Atlanta?"

Steve shakes his head. "No. I do feel like we've met, though."

"Me too." The man smiles with relief to have his suspicions confirmed. "Tony." He holds out a hand and Steve takes it, offering his own name back.

The name Tony feels familiar too, but Steve can't place why.

"Americano," the barista calls out. Steve steps up to the window to grab it and the movement nearly presses his arm against Tony's. Something fizzes in his stomach, the rich, bitter smell of the coffee spinning his head.

"Oh man, an Americano…" Tony says softly. "I haven't had one of those in like six months..."

**

Steve hooks his arm around Tony's waist and pulls him closer. It's hot and sweaty, way too hot to be this snuggled up, but Steve can't sleep without Tony tucked against his chest. He'll trade the heat for Tony's closeness any day. Crickets chirp outside the open window.

Steve blinks his eyes closed then opens them again. Crickets chirp outside the open window. He pulls the pillow closer against his chest, spreading his legs out in the empty bed. It's so hard to sleep when it's this hot out.

**

"Come on!" Tony pulls on Steve's hand, laughing. "We're gonna miss it."

"We have forty-five minutes," Steve replies, laughing now too. "We're not gonna miss it."

"I need a coffee first, though, or I'll die."

Steve tugs Tony closer, slowing him down. "There's plenty of time. Come here." 

Tony slows his pace, and they walk down the cobbled street together. Steve has never been on vacation before, not like this, not to an entirely different country. He never could have done it without Tony, never would have been so bold. It's beautiful, it's fun, and it's thrilling and he doesn't want to change a thing.

Tony squeezes his hand as they arrive at the counter of the theatre's cafe, still with plenty of time to spare. Steve smiles up at the young lady behind the cash register. "Soy latte," he orders for himself, "and an Americano with a little room for milk," he adds for Tony.

Steve pays then winds his fingers through Tony's while they wait, leaned back against a stone pillar. The sound of high heeled shoes and excited chatter fills the hall. 

"Americano," is called out, and Steve untagles his fingers from the mess of tickets he'd been flipping through in his wallet and steps up to collect his coffee. The sound of high-heeled shoes and excited chatter fills the hall. He adds milk then takes a sip as he watches the crowd shift around him.

This vacation would be more fun if he had someone to come with him. Not that it's not fun by himself; it's just a bit… lonely.

**

"He's what?" Steve grips his phone harder, as if by pressing it more tightly to his ear, he can change the words he's hearing. 

"He's going to Lacuna Inc." Pepper sighs. "I'm only telling you because you guys still live in the same city and I - and I think you should know. That's all. He didn't ask me to tell you and I didn't ask if he minded," she adds pointedly.

"Okay. I understand." Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thank you. I appreciate you calling."

Pepper hangs up, and Steve struggles to hold back the tears that press at the backs of his eyes, hot and insistent. 

"You okay?" Nat asks from the couch.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath. "He's going to Lacuna." His eyes cut over the door to Tony's room. It's been closed since the breakup. Even back when Tony had moved from his own room to Steve's, when he stopped being a roommate and started being something more, even then it was open, full of Tony's projects, extra clothes, magazine collection. Now it's empty, but it stays closed. "He's going to get our relationship deleted. All of it, gone from his mind."

"I'm sorry," Nat says softly. She stands up and wraps her fingers around Steve's forearm. "Are you okay?"

Steve shakes his head. "No. No I'm not. I don't - I don't want him to do that. I hate that he wants to. I wish I could stop him."

"You guys broke up, Steve. And it was awful. Can you blame him for wanting to forget?"

"I know." Steve growls out. He grips the phone too hard again, and it makes an unhappy sound. "I remember." Steve stomps past Tony's closed door to his room and throws his phone on the bed before he breaks it. He can hear Nat shuffle up into his doorway after him. "I'm going to go too."

"Really?"

Steve nods. "I can't - I can't know that he's forgotten but I still know. If he's going, I'm going. They can erase all this -" he gestures to his head "- and I can start over and be happy again."

"If that's what you want…"

"It is. The good times that we had… it wasn't worth it. Not for what I'm going through now. I'd rather get rid of it all."

Steve picks up a picture frame from his desk and rubs his thumb over the polaroid inside. Him and Tony, at the beach, crooked and off-kilter because Tony had insisted on holding the camera backwards instead of asking someone else to take it. They're both laughing. There's sand in their hair. 

Steve rubs one hand over his face and lets out a long, low sigh. He opens his eyes again to look down at the photo he's holding. Him and Nat and Sam at the beach. There's sand in their hair. He can hear Sam in his room next door, shuffling around, and Nat in the kitchen. Steve has a vague, frustrated feeling, but he can't put his finger on why. Probably because Sam forgot to take the trash out again. He's a good roommate, usually, but sometimes Steve wishes he lived alone. Or maybe with someone special. 

That sounds nice.

**

Steve taps a finger idly on the edge of the coffee truck's window while he waits. It's not long before a warm cup is handed to him and he turns to the toppings counter to add a little cinnamon. At the exact same moment, a young man with dark hair and gorgeous eyes comes flying around the corner, holding a coffee cup of his own - with the top off - and slams full-force into Steve's chest.

"Ah!"

Coffee splashes up between them - the man's all over Steve, Steve's all over the man. There's a brief panic as they both try to make sure the other's okay, but between Steve's windbreaker and the man's layered suit, they're both just messy now, but not burned.

"I'm so sorry," the man says. "I absolutely wasn't looking where I was going."

"That's okay. Neither was I."

"Let me get you a new one." The man steps up to the window. 

"Oh, no. I should get  _ you  _ a new one. That was my fault," Steve insists.

"It was entirely my fault."

The two men stare at each other for a moment and something flip-flops in Steve's chest. They both smell like rich, bitter coffee and smooth, nutty soy milk, now. "Please let me get you a new drink," Steve says softly.

The man chews his lip. "Only if you let me get you yours."

Steve smiles. "Yeah, alright. I'm Steve, by the way."

The man shakes his hand. "Tony. What were you drinking, Steve?"

"Soy latte," Steve says, digging his wallet out. "And you?"

"Americano, with a little room for milk."

Steve smiles and turns away to throw his empty cup out. He turns back to the truck window. The barista looks out at him then winces. "Spilled, huh?"

"Yup." Steve sighs. "I tripped over the cable by the topping counter." 

"Shit, sorry. That's my fault. Let me get you a refill and then I'll move the cable. What was it again?"

Steve breathes in deeply. It smells like seasons changing here, but also like bitter, rich coffee with a hint of something else he can't place. He looks out at the empty street on either side of him. It's kind of a lonely night. "Americano," he says. "With a little room for milk."


End file.
